The Spheres of Heaven

10: RECRUITING ON EUROPA

Chan Dalton, his arrival at Europa less than two hours ahead, was still trying to make up his mind.

It was the classic question; you had two tasks to perform and one promised to be much harder and more unpleasant than the other. Did you tackle the tough one first and get it out of the way? Or did you postpone, and hope that before you came to the hard part you might be struck by a meteorite, or that a solar flare would wipe out life in the solar system?

The angry weapons master first, or the cheerful dreamer? Deb Bisson, or Tully O’Toole?

Chan made up his mind — after a fashion. Whoever was closer to his arrival point, that’s the one he would call on first. And let’s hope that it was Tully the Rhymer, the disheveled dreamer.

The message unit was nagging for attention. Probably to give the ship its final docking instructions. Chan casually flipped the switch, then sat up straighter as the imaging region filled with a three-dimensional whirlpool of colors.

A shape gradually coalesced, a bulky green mass with waving upper fronds. A computer-generated voice said, “Chan Dalton?”

“You’re an Angel.”

“No. We are the Angel. The Angel who was with you on Travancore, the Angel with whom you once mind-pooled. Such pooling is now permanently forbidden, but are you that same Chan Dalton?”

“Of course I am. Can’t you tell?”

“All humans, unfortunately, look much the same to us. We can now proceed. We are linking in from the home-world of Sellora.”

“That’s impossible. This ship doesn’t have equipment for direct interstellar linkage.”

“Not impossible, merely improbable. When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. We assure you, we are linking to your ship. Chan Dalton, we must talk. We have heard that you are in the process of assembling a team of humans; in fact, the same team of humans who many of your years ago submitted a plan for travel to unknown parts of the Perimeter.”

“That’s—” Chan had been about to say again that it was impossible for anyone except himself to know such a thing. He restrained himself. It would merely encourage the Angel to offer another human platitude or quotation. “How do you know what I’m doing?”

“An Angel has the potential to simulate the thought processes of any particular human, provided that there has been enough prior contact. You had a most intimate contact with us. We know how you think.”

“Then you’re ahead of me. I don’t know how I know what I’m thinking. I don’t know where I’m going when I land on Europa. I don’t know if I can put a team together. I’m not even sure I can find some of the members, let alone persuade them.”

“Let us assume that you achieve those goals. Then we wish to warn you. Without the tempering influence of Angels, Tinkers, and Pipe-Rillas, your team contains the seeds of instability and violence. Murder cannot be permitted. No matter what you find in the Geyser Swirl, no matter what violence you may encounter, you must not destroy intelligent beings to solve your problems.”

“You told me that already, in the Star Chamber meeting.”

“That was before we learned one other item of information. After the Star Chamber meeting, we employed a piece of equipment able to search for and locate any living Angel within large volumes of space at arbitrarily large distances. We applied that instrument to the Geyser Swirl. And we found — nothing.” The blue-green fronds waved in an agitated manner. “Nothing. The Angel who went to the Geyser Swirl is dead.”

“How could that happen?” Chan was genuinely amazed. The Angels offered a combination of guile, caution, and resilience that made them practically indestructible.

“We do not know. It is beyond our comprehension. There was no sign even of the Singer’s crystal, which withstands huge force and high temperatures. Therefore we know only this: something in the Geyser Swirl provides great danger and offers potential for violence.” The upper fronds were waving wildly. “We are unable to speak more. We wish only to warn you, and to say you must not seek to match violence with violence—” The fronds suddenly closed to cover the top of the bulbous upper part, and a chromatic flicker of colors moved across the image. The Link connection was beginning to break down. “Take care, take care,” said the fading computer voice. “Remember this: There are more things in the Geyser Swirl, Chan Dalton, than are dreamed of in your philosophy. ”

Thanks, Angel. That’s just the sort of encouragement I could have done without. Chan did not bother to speak the words. He was staring at an empty image area.

Europa is only a fourth the size of Terra, but its ice-covered ocean has an average depth of more than fifty kilometers. The volume of water contained there is as much as in all of Earth’s oceans. The world-spanning sea of Europa is deep and dark and the seabed beneath is a treasure trove of metals, delivered over billions of years by meteorite impact and melting slowly through and down. The waters themselves are clear and potable; they are also uncharted, and unpatroled. They form, not surprisingly, a haven for some of the system’s most desperate criminals.

Chan’s task, to find and recruit Tully O’Toole and Deb Bisson in a couple of days, should have been impossible. He had hope, for one reason only: since neither Tully nor Deb was in hiding, the chances were good that he would find them on Europa’s single land area. He had examined the image on the screen ahead during final approach, and felt encouraged. Mount Ararat was not much to look at. Europa’s single “continent” consisted of four connected peaks, stretching in a knobby line over a dozen kilometers of surface. Even the tallest hill was no more than a black pile of igneous rock in an endless frozen plain. The encroaching ice pinched low points of the sawtooth ridge, almost dividing the knolls into separate islands. The total land area was just a few square kilometers, and like all of Europa it was subjected to a continuous hail of protons, accelerated by Jupiter’s powerful magnetic field. No sane person would try to live there, and no one did. The population was beneath, in an interconnected labyrinth of chambers and corridors tunneled from the rock.

Chan studied the layout, and decided it should not be hard to find anyone on Mount Ararat who was not actively trying to hide. So now he had to answer the question that he had been avoiding: Who first?

As the transit vessel dropped in toward Mount Ararat’s primitive spaceport, he entered the two names and requested information on their last-known locations. Answers came back at once, pinpointed on a map of the underground city. One glance, and Chan cursed. He might have known it. Tully O’Toole was at the edge of Mount Ararat’s northern hill, as far from the port point as you could get. Deb Bisson was an easy five-minute underground walk from the ship’s landing point. The issue was settled.

What time of day was it here? As it landed, the ship’s display adjusted to local time. As Chan recalled it, Europa and the other Jovian moons used some crazy decimal system, dividing each day into ten hours of a hundred minutes. What did one-ninety correspond to? Late, well after midnight, but how late? He made up his mind. He was in a hurry. Night or day, he must go at once to Deb and talk to her.

Chan went through the landing procedures in a haze of anticipation, answering the machine’s questions impatiently and with half his brain. Expected duration of stay? One or two days, maximum. Import/export materials? None — unless you counted a couple of humans. Purpose of visit? Chan paused for a moment. Discussions? Let’s hope he was right about that.

And then he was inside, through the lock and hurrying along a wide poorly lit corridor designed more for automated vehicles than for people. His surroundings were as bare and forbidding as the naked rock through which the tunnel was carved. He could not imagine Deb living here. No prison on Earth was as bleak.

But then, beyond the first chamber and bulkhead, everything changed. Even Chan, hurried as he was, had to pause and look around him.

Anyone who believed that all residents of Europa lived simple, primitive lives should come here and take a look. The rough-cut walls of black rock had been transformed to smooth white surfaces, covered with murals depicting native Europan life-forms. The beauty of paintings showing the tube worms and crystalline arrays that flourished at the seabed vents was a matter of taste — Chan thought they were hideous — but they were original, expensive artwork. And there was no doubt about the cost of the deep, living rug across which he walked. The organisms of the carpet were tailor-made to thrive in Europa’s individual gravity and atmosphere. So, too, were those in the ceiling of the corridor. The soft, bioluminescent glow that they provided verified that locally it was late at night.

Chan trod softly, almost tiptoeing as he came to the next corridor of residential suites. He was in an area that would qualify as high-class dwelling space anywhere in the solar system. Deb, whatever she was doing, was not living in poverty.

He came to a wide, solid door. The small plate attached to it read D. Bisson in discreet cursive script. A communication grille sat in the wall at the left-hand side. Chan hesitated. The logical — and polite — thing to do was to signal, identify himself, and request permission to enter.

But suppose that she told him to go to hell, turned off the communicator, and would not let him in? He had come a long way to leave without an audience. And he had been the one, back on Mars, who told Danny Casement that team recruiting must be done face-to-face. It was more true for Deb Bisson than for anyone.

He gently tried the door. As expected, it was locked. But this was a normal domestic lock, not one of the infinitely variable smart ciphers. For a man who had spent the past two decades in Earth’s Gallimaufries, that was almost an invitation.

Chan had not seen a living soul since he landed on Europa, but he walked carefully up and down the corridor before returning to Deb Bisson’s door. Everything seemed peaceful. He bent down to study the lock.

It took longer than expected, but within five minutes he was delicately turning the final cylinder and easing the door open. The inside of the apartment was even darker than the corridor. He stood on the threshold for a few moments to study his surroundings. He was in a big rectangular room, at least ten meters long. Judging from the equipment, with its beams and pulleys and weights, this was some kind of exercise area. The surface gravity of Europa was even less than on the Moon, and if you stayed here for a long time it was essential to work out regularly. Otherwise you lost muscle tone and bone mass. The higher gravity worlds like Earth and Venus would close to you permanently.

The far end of the room held three doors. The left-most two were open, and by the faint light within them he could make out a hint of comfortable furniture in one and wall cabinets in the other. He guessed at living room and kitchen, or possibly living room and workroom. The third door was open just a crack. It was presumably the bedroom, and it was totally dark.

Chan tiptoed toward it. He didn’t want to wake Deb up suddenly. In the old days, even at the best of times, that guaranteed a bad mood. The best way would be to stand at her bedside and speak in a soft voice, so that she would wake slowly and naturally.

He pushed the door wide and stood staring into the room. He thought he could make out the shape of a big bed, with what might be a sleeping body lying toward the right side of it.

He took another step forward. As he did so he was grabbed from behind and flipped end over end. He was caught in midair and both arms were twisted behind his back. Something that felt like a band of steel whipped across his throat, choking him.

A voice hissed in his ear, “All right, smart boy. Struggle and you’re dead.” The steel band tightened. “Don’t even try.”

It was an easy command to obey. It took Chan’s best efforts just to breathe. He felt himself being frisked for weapons and heard a grunt of surprise. Suddenly he was thrown across the room and landed on the bed. He hit on top of something that yelped, and as he rolled over and tried to sit up a light went on.

Chan saw everything in one quick flash. He had been thrown onto a bed covered with a mess of tangled sheets. Deb Bisson crouched about three meters away. She was naked, her body damp with sweat and her dark hair in a wild cloud about her intent face. Her white limbs were deceptively smooth and feminine. In one hand she held a steel chain, and the tendons in that forearm flexed and stood out like cables. Next to Chan was the man whom he had landed on. He was big, blond, muscle-bound, also nude, and his mouth gaped open.

Chan saw the expression on Deb’s face change from murderous intent to question to total shock.

“You!” she said. “I don’t believe it. What are you doing here — in my apartment — in my bedroom — in the middle of the night — when I was — you bastard, what the devil are you doing here at all ?”

“I need to talk to you.” Chan held his hands up in self-defense, because Deb’s face had darkened and she was raising the steel chain.

“I don’t need to talk to you. Ever.” The chain whipped from one hand to the other so fast that Chan heard it but didn’t see it. “You get out of here before I slash your guts out and stuff them down your lying throat.”

Chan had no doubt that she could do it, with her bare hands if she had to. He eased off the bed and stood up, very slowly and carefully. He knew better than to smile.

“Deb, I know you hate me. I understand why, and I can explain what happened.”

“I’m not interested in your explanations.”

“I know. And that’s not why I came here. For years, I haven’t called you or tried to contact you—”

“Do you think I don’t know that?”

“ — and I wouldn’t be here now, if I didn’t think you would want to hear what I have to say. All I’m asking is ten minutes.”

“In the middle of the night? After breaking into my home, disturbing my privacy, without even a call to tell me you’re coming.”

“If I had called ahead, would you have agreed to see me?”

She did not answer. The chain whistled through the air. One end passed close to Chan’s neck. Three inches more, and it would have severed his windpipe.

Call that encouraging. She could have killed him, and she’d decided not to.

“You wouldn’t have spoken to me, Deb. I think you would have regretted it later when you learned what you missed, but you’d have hung up on me. What I need to tell you isn’t personal. But it is private.”

The flicker of his eyes toward Deb’s naked companion would have been imperceptible to most people. Deb shrugged and tossed the chain casually to one side. She knew, and she knew Chan knew, that she could take him apart without any more weapons than her hands.

“Olaf, if you don’t mind.” She nodded to the man on the bed, who had wriggled back under a sheet. “I need to talk to this scumbag.”

Olaf stood up, turned his back to Chan, and pulled on his pants with as much dignity as he could manage. “Are you sure you’ll be safe?” he said over his shoulder. “I realize you know him, but if you would like me to stay and make sure you are all right …”

Deb’s smile was at Chan, and it was not friendly. “Thanks, Olaf, but I can manage. I wish he would start something, just to give me an excuse to snap his rotten neck.”

“Should I come back later, then?”

“We’ll see. I’ll call you.”

As Olaf left, Chan began, “If I had known that you had a regular partner these days, I wouldn’t—”

“Stuff it, Chan Dalton. You’ll have to lie better than that to fool me.”

“Was I lying?”

“You certainly were. Partner!” She spat the word at Chan like a curse. “I don’t have partners any more. How well do you think Olaf knows me, if he doesn’t realize I’m a weapons master who can look after herself better than anyone on Europa? He’s not my partner, he’s a pick-up — and a lot better lover than you ever were. So cut the crap. Tell me what you want.” She was reaching down to lift a white robe from the floor, and she saw Chan’s look. “And you can stop staring at my ass. You had your chance, and you blew it.”

“I was just marveling at how little you’ve changed. Your body doesn’t look a day older.”

“That’s nice. What am I supposed to do, curtsey and say thank you, sir? I’ll tell you one thing, I’m a thousand years older inside. So get on with it. What’s so important that you have to track me down and stick your nose into my life?”

Chan sat down on the bed. “It’s a long story.”

“You said you needed ten minutes.”

“If I had said I needed an hour, would you have agreed to listen to me?”

“Of course not.” Deb tucked her robe around her legs and sank easily to the floor. “You have ten minutes to prove I should waste an hour with you, and if you can’t you’ll be out on your ass. Nine minutes now — you’ve wasted one. Better get started.”

“We have a chance to put the old team together and take a ship to the stars.”

“Bullshit.” She glared up at him with angry brown eyes. “The Link network hasn’t worked for twenty years and it doesn’t work now. Are you trying to tell me that the Stellar Group is lifting the quarantine on us?”

“No. I’m telling you that they are allowing one ship with a human crew to use the network with their blessing. You can be on that ship, Deb.”

“I’d love to. Provided that you aren’t.”

“Sorry. It doesn’t work like that. The Stellar Group insists that I be there, because I worked with them before and they trust me.”

“More fool them.”

“They didn’t insist on anybody else. It was my idea to put the old team together. You, me, Dan Casement, Tully, the Bun, Tarb, Chrissie Winger … the way we planned it. Remember, Deb? The perfect team, with just the mix we needed. The idea wasn’t wrong, it’s as good now as it was then. It was the quarantine that stopped us.”

“The quarantine had nothing to do with what you did, you son of a bitch.”

“Maybe it did, Deb. Maybe it had a lot to do with it. But you said you didn’t want to talk about you and me, and I respect that. The new expedition isn’t about you and me. It’s about a chance to do what we once wanted to do, all of us, and never had the opportunity. It’s about a chance to end the quarantine and open the road to the stars. Forget that I’ll be on the ship. You won’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to. Think of working with the others again. You and Tully the Rhymer always got on great with each other — the Tarbush, too.”

The angry twist to her mouth was less tight. She stood up, came across to where Chan was sitting on the bed, and stared down at him.

“You’re a wily bastard, Chan Dalton. You’re still trying to push my buttons. Do you really have the others lined up — all of them, Danny and the Tarbush and the Bun and everyone?”

Chan cursed his decision to visit Deb first. He could see the look in her eyes. It was the old star-lust, the way it had been twenty years ago. She was turning his way. If he could have just told her that Dan Casement and Tully were already definite, and Danny was even now on the Vulcan Nexus, chasing down the Bun …

“I don’t have everyone, Deb. I wish I did.”

“Who do you have?”

“Well, there’s me. And Danny Casement. And, I hope, you.”

“And that’s it ? You absolute asshole , you don’t have any team. You haven’t changed, not one little bit. You make promises, and when it’s time to deliver you just slip out from under. Get out of my sight.”

She crouched slightly and stood with her arms bent. Chan came to his feet in an eye-blink. You didn’t mess with Deb Bisson when she looked like that.

“Deb, I’m leaving. But if I could—”

“Out this minute, or I throw you out.”

Chan said rapidly, “Just ten seconds, for one more thing.”

“Nothing you can say will make any difference.”

“Maybe not, but let me say it. I’ll be going on this expedition with or without any others from the old team. I have to. But it won’t be the same, and it won’t be as safe. I came to you first, because if you come on board, I know for sure that Tully will, and the Tarbush will, and Chrissie will. They may not think much of me, but they worship you.”

“That is the worst crap I ever heard. I haven’t seen any of them for years. I don’t know where they are, what they’re doing, if they’re alive.”

“Now who’s the one who’s lying? Tully O’Toole lives right here on Europa, in the Mount Ararat settlement. You have to know that, Deb, this place isn’t big enough to hide somebody like Tully the Rhymer.”

“So what?”

“So come with me to see him. See how he reacts. If he says yes, it will be that much easier to talk to Chrissie and Tarbush.”

“Why should I make things easier for you?”

“It will only take one hour of your time.”

“One hour like your ten minutes?”

“If he says no, I’ll accept that I can’t get the old team together. I’ll be out of here.”

She stripped off the robe, turned, and walked across to a drawer set in the wall. “Do you know where Tully lives?” She was pulling out black pants and a tank top.

“I have a locator output.”

“And that’s all? I can do better than that. Tully’s on the northern knoll, and I know exactly where.”

“Are you proposing that we go there now? It’s the middle of the night.”

“That didn’t worry you when you broke in on me. Of course I want to go now. What’s the option? Sit here and listen to you talk about the old times, and why you did what you did? No thanks.” She pulled a black hooded cloak over her skintight clothes and walked toward the door, smiling as if at some bitter joke. “You surprised me, it’s time you had a surprise yourself. We’ll go and see Tully. Then I think you’ll agree that the `old team’ idea is a load of garbage. You’ll be out of here. And I can forget that you ever came.”